


The Enchanting Forest

by ElasticElla



Series: follower milestone ficlets [11]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Space, Bisexual Marian, Compulsive Heterosexuality, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lesbian Milah, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 19:10:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8413282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: Milah lounges across the Jolly Roger's command chair, single-handedly tossing and catching an old dwarven dagger.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed some of Peter Pan Hook's crew because I can. (Cecco, Cookson, Noodler, Jukes & Gentleman Starkey) 
> 
> for my darling katie, i hope you like it <3

Milah lounges across the Jolly Roger's command chair, single-handedly tossing and catching an old dwarven dagger. They've just raided their first ever dwarf ship, a mining vessel filled to the brim with faerie dust, and her crew is rather cheery and boisterous. Their usual fare was supply ships, sent through the lawless galaxy to save weeks of travel. Milah flipped a coin for each one- heads to attack and tails to shadow them, ensuring safe transport. It took the crew a month before they saw the wisdom of it, by then word had spread and more spaceships sought passage with far better prizes. No longer did they only go up against desperate crews or fighters out to make a name for themselves. Merchants and delivery ships, Milah thought happily, were the dream. They didn't try to run or fight when they saw Jolly's gleaming hull inlaid with pegasus feathers. Most even prepared their inventory- doubtless hiding a few treasures- but it was good for business. 

It did make Milah's ship feel less pirate-y and more like a toll booth, but the dwarves had helped with that- far too proud to easily relinquish their wares. She hadn't realized how much she needed a good fight, the stab to her thigh as invigorating as it was excruciating. She kept the knife as her prize from the ship, she had no use for such a fickle thing as faerie dust. Her crew disagreed and after a quarter was dolled out, the remainder to be sold for fuel and food and parts, she made them swear to only use the dust on land. 

Which brought them to the current disagreement about where to land.

“Camelot! Name any person who would pay more for faerie dust than Nimue,” Smee says. 

Milah snorted, responding, “And Merlin and Arthur would be so very grateful to us for freeing her.” 

“Er, right,” Smee says quickly, “maybe not Camelot.” 

“What 'bout Oz?” Cookson asks, avoiding all eyes. 

Cecco laughs, “You just want to fuck the Witch of the North.” 

“Like you don't,” Cookson grumbles. 

Jukes frowns, more expression than has been seen on his face in weeks. “It only takes one irate witch to gather a coven and strip our ship of magic.” 

Milah smiles, “Jukes is right. I say we go to Sherwood. Their laws are still loose and plenty of folks travel through, buyers will be aplenty.” 

The crew is silent, only Smee dares to speak, “Even in this blessed ship it will take us three weeks to get there. We're to allow free passage for two months?” 

“Why Mr. Smee, you don't think the good citizens of the universe have earned three or four months open?” Milah asks coyly.

Cecco's smile turns nasty, catching her line of thought, “More bloody pirates would take up our place, they'll be begging to have us back.” 

A sinister murmur passes through the crew, and Milah continues, “We'll go after the pirates first, remind them why this system is ours, and take all they claimed in our absence.” 

A cheer goes up, and she gives the order, “Gentleman Starkey, enter coordinates for Sherwood.” 

.

Milah has never been to Sherwood, and in the days approaching, she flicks through a planetary report Jukes prepared for her. After eying that none of their classifications had changed much from rumor, Milah mostly looked at the photographs. A heavy light blue-lilac canopy covered nearly the entire planet, gorgeous enough that she thought Jukes must have downloaded the images from a travel website or some such thing. One of the prettiest images, shot from the ground and looking up at layers upon layers of the blue-lilac foliage, has a caption saying that the invasive tree species was imported from the frozen lands of Oz, and it defied all expectations by surviving much less thriving. As expected, Jukes included a few scientific articles regarding the trees and how they altered the ecosystem, past and present, but Milah didn't do more than scan their first paragraphs- the pictures were far, far prettier. 

They make the trip in eighteen days, moving far too quick for anyone to stop them and not stopping for any of the plump ships they pass. (The Arendelle craft is the hardest to pass, the queen's love of jewels well known. But Milah loves the Jolly too much, will not take unnecessary gambles by fighting in a zone she does not know- whether it be its laws or geography.)

They dock during Sherwood's evening, bright reds and deep purples clashing across the sky. Smee will of course remain with the ship, and Milah gathers her crew before transporting to land. 

“Everyone has their dust?” She asks, raucous laughter greeting her ears. “I thought so. Now, what happens if you're caught doing anything illegal?” 

“You're not in the crew!” they shout back, and she nods. The Jolly Roger operated under the appearance of legality, needed for easy trade and vacationing on whatever planet they wished. And as the only pirates that allowed their victims to live, it wasn't as if any survivors would dare stand against them. Much less those that had their offerings ready and waiting. (Well… there was that time with the mermaids from Ursula's ship, vindictive creatures. But they were slaughtered easily enough, and _now_ none would dare.)

“Beam us down Mr. Smee,” Milah says, fingertips on her new dagger's hilt just in case. 

The air shimmers, and they appear on Sherwood's land, a bored teenager saying without inflection, “Welcome, please leave the circle so the next group can come in.” 

Milah leaves the chalk circle with half of her crew, the rest already beginning to materialize. Glancing down she checks that the small pouch is still hanging beneath her shirt, and Cookson, their best traveled takes the lead. 

“C'mon, Friar Tuck's will be the best place.” 

“ _Friar_?” Cecco echoes, as the other half joins them. 

“He used to be a pirate, not a 'ery good one- with the Merry Men,” Cookson says, walking into town. 

Milah follows with a shrug, most of her attention higher with the trees. They're even more gorgeous than the perfect images were, the dark sky turning the uppermost layers indiscernible. The closer leaves are lit up by streetlamps and shops and homes, the yellow glow making them look more and less alien at once. 

Cookson leads them to a tavern without a sign, disappointingly similar to every other tavern Milah has done business in. She gets a common pale brew and a table in the corner, not wanting to test her limits against Sherwood intoxicants her first night here. Most of her crew doesn't agree, getting the heaviest local brews the Friar offers. It isn't a surprise, and once again, Milah almost wishes for a crew like Ursula's, made up entirely of brilliant women. It'd be far more challenging to keep her captaincy and manipulate them, she'd need a far stronger second than Smee. Someone brilliant and cut-throat, they'd need to be popular with the crew too. 

Jack strides into the tavern then, as though hearing her thoughts, cocky and sharp looking as ever. Once upon a time she dreamed of them having their own ship, long before she knew Jack. Flipping a bronze coin to the Friar, she leans over the bar to fill her own tankard, and saunters over to Milah's table. 

“It's been a few years love, you still playing toll troll on my ship?” Jack asks, sitting across from her. 

Milah smirks, a little too shallow to do damage, “Your captain died first, his ugly black beard going red.”

Jack laughs, and it's the confirmation Milah expected but still hoped she might not get. Jack would never be loyal to anyone but herself, she could never truly trust the woman. Certainly hadn't trusted her during their little tryst. 

“The Second Revenge might meet you yet,” Jack says, more flirtatious than the threat warrants. 

Milah doesn't allow herself to blink, “Pity the Witch of the East is dead, did the green one help you enchant the sequel?” 

“Wouldn't you like to know,” Jack drawls. She tosses a heavy purse on the table, coins clinking within. “For your share of the faerie dust.” 

Milah opens the pouch, does some quick counting, suspicions looming in her mind. 

“And that's well over double what it's worth. So unless you're afraid to sell it to me…”

Milah purses her lips, annoyed; even if she sold to another, with this kind of gold Jack could easily buy it off almost anyone. 

“Deal,” Milah grits out, withdrawing the expandable pouch. 

Jack grins, grabbing it and brushing against her fingers. They're nimble fingers Jack has, and Milah banishes the memory before it can fully form. 

“Pleasure doing business with you, a drink perhaps for such a momentous occasion?” Jack asks, already waving a waitress over. “Perhaps we could create an even more momentous evening?” 

Milah stands, pocketing the gold. “Another time perhaps.” 

“Coward,” Jack says with a slick grin. 

Once it would have made Milah sit again, but now she just says, “Pleasure doing business with you.” 

Outside is darker than before, only the wind and rustle of leaves and lack of stars betraying what could be a sky for a thick canopy. She wanders down the main road, hard dirt that's been walked upon enough to feel like pavement. (Or perhaps it's the type of dirt, but Milah would have had to read Jukes' long papers more thoroughly to know.)

None of the shops catch her interest until the last, an open air cafe with a variety of mismatched chairs and uniform clear glass tables. It's perhaps the most charming thing she's ever seen, feels some envy for all those that live near.

There's a woman behind a counter of baked goods, turned around as she makes something.

“Pick a table, I'll be with you in a minute.” 

Milah does, going for a plush red leather lawn-chair, stretched out as she looks up at the leaves. The cafe's lights are white instead of yellow, and Milah only notices as she looks up at the nearest pale blue and purple leaves. It's then that she observes she can't see any branches. Rather odd, but she supposes it could somehow be the night's fault or-

“Hello, I'm Marian,” there's a soft slap of a menu falling, “welcome to Cafe-Maid.” 

“Thanks I'm Milah,” she answers, quickly sitting up and skimming the laminated page. “Can I get the jasmine-unicornhorn tea and a croissant please?” 

“Coming right up,” Marian says, and Milah lays back down again. Her eyes close without command, nearly falling asleep to the leaves' gentle whisper. Between the new timezone and the long day, it's beyond tempting to, only the promise of food and drink keeping her awake.

Her eyes snap back open when Marian approaches, and she sits up. 

“Anything else?” she asks after placing the tea and croissant down. 

“You could join me,” Milah says, eyes widening as she realizes she said that out loud. “I mean, if you're not busy and you want to.” 

Marian's laugh is soft, a delicate enchantment like her surroundings and Milah's curiosity comes even quicker. 

“Give me a minute,” she says, and Milah watches her pour herself a mug of coffee and grab a pastry. She's halfway back when Milah realizes she hasn't even poured her tea yet, cheeks burning. 

Marian sits on a squashy orange chair, fingers laced around her mug. “So are you _the_ Milah? Captain of the Jolly Roger?” 

“I am,” she says, thankful when Marian's expression doesn't shift to fear or worry. 

“You must see many places then, where is your favorite?” 

“Here,” Milah says, her lips moving again without thought. She looks up, “Your trees really are remarkable, I could stare at them for days.” 

Marian smiles, “They're a common fascination for visitors. We tend to call them the Enchanting Forest.”

Milah snorts, “Her evil majesty doesn't mind?” 

Marian shrugs, eyes on her biscuit, “She avoids this part of the galaxy, and it's not like we steal tourists from the real Enchanted Forest.” 

“A wonder,” Milah says, “a true mystery that more don't come here.” 

Marian smiles again, “A hidden gem stays well polished.” 

Milah hasn't heard that one before, isn't sure how to reply directly. “It's so peaceful out here, you'd never know there's a pub a few blocks away.” 

Marian grins, all small teeth, “A few spells circle here, one is for noise-cancellation.” 

“Are you a witch then?” Milah asks.

“No,” she answers, smile falling off her lips. 

“So what do you do in the rain?” she asks, lighter. 

A weak smile comes back, “You'll have to come and see.” 

Milah laughs, “I'm sure I will. I plan on spending most of my time in this very spot. I suspect,” Milah confides, “you'll grow rather sick of me.” 

“Oh really?” Marian asks. 

Milah nods, “If I could I'd spend the night here, beneath the leaves.” 

“It's a nice enough night for it,” Marian says, “but what would I charge you?” 

“Truly?” Milah asks, and Marian nods. 

“Whatever you wish.”

She raises an eyebrow, “And what if I asked for your latest treasure?” 

“That I sold for gold,” Milah readily admits, “but my latest treasure I consider such…” 

She draws her dagger, flipping it around to offer it hilt first to Marian. 

“I only know how to wield a bow,” Marian says as inspects it. “This is- this is not a human blade and there is blood still lingering.” 

Milah's chest feels like her heart is about to burst through, and she can only hope she didn't drastically mischaracterize her new acquaintance. 

“Aye, it's dwarven and some of my blood may remain.” 

Marian sucks in a loud breath, pushing the knife across the table. “I may not be a witch but I know of blood magic, and you offer far too much.” 

Milah's lips curl up, “Then I shall teach you how to use the dagger, and spend my nights in the most scenic inn in existence.” 

A laugh tinkles past her lips, as soft as the last, and Marian says, “A deal then.” 

.

Milah wakes suddenly as she always does, eyes blinking open to see dew shining upon the foliage not twenty feet up, yet she is completely dry. It must be a type of magic, but none she knows could do such a thing. 

If she squints, she can see some droplets, hanging over the clear dome. It's as if she's in a heavenly greenhouse, all strange and beautiful, and she blames such fanciful thoughts on the few hours of sleep. She isn't sure how much she got, when staring up at the rustling darkness turned to sleep, knows only that they followed into her dreams, a smothering joy invading all of her senses. 

Milah isn't much of a morning person, not even in the best of circumstances, exchanging empty bits of  
smalltalk with Marian to get some coffee to bring back to her ship. She needs to change and check up on things, likes to do a thorough personal inspection before they take to space again. It takes the better part of two weeks, and for the first time she wishes it were quicker. Usually it's a tool of measuring out their stops, but this one already feels too short. 

She starts outside of the ship, Smee taking notes inside for her, as she drifts around the ship checking the hulls first. Milah isn't too proud to admit checking the hulls started as an excuse to spacewalk and admire the ever-shining inlaid pegasus feathers. It wasn't until a little faerie, Nova, put a slowing charm on their hull that Milah recognized their true weaknesses. (The faerie had to be hunted down and tortured and killed of course, a pity, but now they had new detection and stronger protection spells.) 

Finished with the exterior check up, Milah heads in, a frowning Mr. Smee waiting for her with a towering plate of food and clipboard. 

“You worked through lunch and dinner,” he says, pushing her to take the food the moment her space suit is off. 

Milah smirks, nibbling on the replicated melon slice, “Why didn't you tell me the time?” 

Mr. Smee's eyes narrow, “Anyone ever tell you you're a terrible lass?” 

“You wound me,” Milah says dramatically, a hand thrown to her chest. She goes for the grapes next, Jukes had played around with the replicator for ages trying to make them as near organic as possible for a wine that would be stronger than replicated vintages. He explained it to her a dozen or so times, but she still doesn't quite understand the mechanics behind it. Regardless, the grapes are perfectly plump and juicy. 

More seriously, Smee says, “I counted, Jack paid us three times what the dust was worth.” 

Milah sighs, heading for the transporter room, “I don't like it either. She's always been in it for glory and guts and then gold.”

Mr. Smee swallows, “You don't think… she isn't going to challenge us?” 

Milah laughs bitterly, “Without a certain advantage? Jack's more likely to slit our throats in our sleep.” 

He gulps, “Comforting.” 

“If only we'd saved our old parts,” Milah muses, finishing three of the finger sandwiches quickly. 

“For what?” Mr. Smee asks. 

“We could have built a second Jolly Roger and sold it to her of course, well 'accidentally' lose it to her. We'd have the newer model and she'd stop harping on about _her_ ship.”

Smee's brows come together, “But- wouldn't- wouldn't we still be giving her the real Jolly then?” 

Milah shrugs, “In a way. It matters not, such a scheme would've needed to start years ago. I doubt we could track the old parts down now. Where is her ship?”

“Departed,” Smee says, “last night, their transporter must be strong, I didn't see their ship dock.” 

Milah sighs, “And where might they be going in such a hurry?” 

“I expect to-”

“Rhetorical Mr. Smee,” Milah snaps, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No matter, we'll deal with Jack after our little break.” 

It's a beautiful evening- though Milah doubts there is any other sort on Sherwood- and she can feel the anger drain out of her as she gets wrapped up in the scenery once more. She hasn't seen a spa or resort yet, which seems odd given the perfect ambiance. She's sure people would fly in from all over for such an idealistic weekend getaway. Milah greets a few of her crew, pleased when none need her, continuing on to the little cafe. There's a folded paper sign that says closed on the counter, the owner no where to be seen. 

“Marian?” Milah calls out.

“One sec,” comes from above, and she looks up, unable to locate where the voice came from. A silver ladder suddenly appears a few feet behind the counter, and Marian comes down in close-fitting clothes and boots. It answers if the woman had forgotten about the offered lessons, and Milah smiles. 

“And you were saying us visitors were obsessed with the trees- you live in them?” 

Marian smiles, “I'm near enough to a visitor, I've only been here for three years.” 

Her words give far more questions than they answer, but there's a little tightness around Marian's mouth so she doesn't push, taking out two knives instead. 

She offers one hilt first, “Alright let's start with your grip…” 

.

The days fall into a nice pattern after that: a quiet breakfast at Marian's counter as she bakes, a day of combing through the Jolly, and then teaching Marian knives- how to hold and throw and stab and slice. She's a better student than Milah expected, hints of rage simmering under the surface, piquing her curiosity even more. 

They're three days from departing when Milah finds an error, and worse still, a deliberate one. The day is gobbled up with questioning Noodler. She'd never liked the overly superstitious pirate, and never understood his excessive superstitions given his hands had grown on backwards. She starts the interrogation by cutting them off. (It takes little more to make him spill everything, the most worrying thing perhaps that one of her crew was so easily broken.)

She's late to Cafe-Maid, exhausted but determined not to miss Marian's lesson if she's up for it. Marian is clearly awake at least, sitting at the counter. Deep red skirts swirl around her legs, a dark brown corset on top, and a bottle before her.

Milah joins her, getting a crooked greeting grin. 

“I heard some whispers and thought alcohol might be better tonight,” Marian says. 

“Please,” Milah says, “our reserve fuel was contaminated, we have a new shipment coming here next week.” 

Marian's smile doesn't dim, offering her one of the cups, “Whiskey and phoenix ashes.” 

“You don't seem disappointed,” Milah says, the drink leaving a blazing trail to her stomach, and coiling there, a steady warmth. 

“Neither do you,” Marian counters.

It startles a small laugh out of her, and Milah takes a smaller sip, “I suppose not.” 

She looks up at the foliage, can't look at Marian without betraying how much her emotions are shaped by her. A crush, she thinks derisively to herself, she'd been so good about avoiding those since Jack. 

“Can I ask you something?” Marian says, breaking the easy silence, and Milah nods. 

“How much of the stories are true?”

Milah snorts, topping off their glasses. “Depends on the story, have one in mind?” 

“Was Hook really your lover?” Marian asks, eyes going wide at her own words. “I mean, if it's not too much to ask.”

“It's fine,” Milah says quickly, downing her new glass, feeling like fire itself burns through her body. “I was in love with what Hook offered me- an escape, a chance to become who I wanted to be. I don't know if I never loved him, or if I simply can't imagine it now.”

Marian's silent, and she adds with forced lightness, “Though I did profit greatly from his death.” 

“It's a protection spell,” Marian says suddenly, gesturing up. “The sphere doesn't allow anyone to pass that wishes me harm, nor any objects to pass independently.”

“The dew,” Milah mutters, glancing up with a new appreciation, “that's quite a hefty bit of magic.” 

The _who are you afraid of_ stays under her tongue, but Marian's wry smile says she already knows what she wants to ask. 

“Three years ago, the evil queen took a new lover, a babe appearing like magic,” Marian continues, eyes glassed over. “Robin insisted I go to the faeries when I gave birth, just in case something went wrong. They are the safest after all,” she says with a bitter twist. “They put a stillborn babe in my arms, and Robin couldn't bear to see me, gave me his land here in Sherwood. 

“I'm not… I'm not positive Prince Roland is my son, it sounds mad even now. Maybe I just couldn't handle the thought of my child being dead.”

“Do you want to know?” Milah asks. 

Marian blinks, “Huh?” 

“I could send someone to get a snip of his hair to test, or I could challenge her.” 

Marian's eyes go wide, “You couldn't.” 

Milah shrugs, “Wouldn't be the first queen.” 

Marian drinks, contemplating. It turns Milah's own thoughts inward, guilt sneaking up her throat. Here she was offering to help Marian with her possible child and she had so easily abandoned-

“No,” Marian finally says. “He's happy, has his father. Such an action would only end with me or Regina dead. Maybe once he's older…”

“Just say the word if you change your mind,” Milah softly says. 

“Robin never wanted me hurt,” Marian says with a sad smile. “It's why he insisted on the bow, so I'd be farthest from a fight.”

Milah hates that she can relate to him at all, wouldn't want Marian near danger, to not be able to easily protect her. The feeling is too much, nearly overwhelming. She's dizzy with it wants to kiss and talk the night away, drinks more to settle herself. 

“My first husband was a coward, didn't want me to fight but wouldn't pick up any weapon,” Milah says. It's too much, she knows she's said too much, can feel the drunken self-destruction roaring in her veins. 

“He promised our second child without asking, I never wanted to birth the first.” 

“What happened to them?” Marian asks as Milah drinks again, is too far for it to matter now. 

“I left them. I couldn't- he was so like his father.” 

Marian blinks slowly, standing up. “I… I need to turn in for the night.” 

Milah expected worse, somehow manages to only say, “Good night.” 

.

The next day feels like the one before never happened, and Milah isn't sure if she should take it as a good or bad sign. Their sparring is lacking on conversation outside of instruction, but otherwise Milah slips back into their usual pattern. The rest of the ship is spotless, and Milah can't help but continuously check up on where the fuel is. (Late at night she can admit she's hoping for a delay, for any excuse to stay in Sherwood longer.)

It takes a week until they're really back to normal- Marian saying she knows their situations were wildly different but still couldn't help comparing them- and then the fuel shipment comes in. They'll depart the next day, and Milah blames the preoccupation on how easily Marian pins her, knife to her throat. 

“I win,” Marian says, straddling her waist and Milah doesn't force her up. She stays completely still as Marian stares at her, playful smile fading as she leans closer. Milah can't believe it, not even as Marian is kissing her, knives tossed aside, and calloused fingers sinking into her hair. They kiss until they're breathless, Milah simply holding Marian after, warmth bubbling in her chest. 

“Take me with you,” Marian demands. 

“You might die,” Milah answers. 

Marian leans up, eyes narrowed and Milah quickly adds on, “You can come of course. I just need you to be aware there's a very real mortal risk.” 

Marian's face softens, fingers toying with Milah's necklace, “I can't stay here. I feel stagnant, and I want- I want to go. I'd rather a breath of happiness than a lifetime of waiting.”

The words feel so close to what Milah once said to Hook, and she can only hope that history doesn't repeat itself. (The image comes too easily, all tragic beauty of her and Jack killing each other and Marian taking up the captain's mantle.)

“Okay,” Milah breathes, and Marian would certainly need training, but Milah already knows she'll become her Lieutenant Commander. Smee didn't have enough strategy for what surely awaited them back in their lawless galaxy, and she'd have two weeks to get Marian up to speed. 

“Good, these leaves no longer enchant me,” Marian says. 

“Really?” Milah asks, eyes up at the artificially lit blue-lilac foliage. “I could lay here with you forever.”

Marian laughs, saying, “Your back must be younger than mine then.” 

She gets up, and Milah follows slowly her back agreeing, sheathing one knife and offering the dwarven one to Marian. 

“As a pirate, you need to always have at least one weapon on you. We'll get you fully outfitted in the armory, but to start, this one is yours.” 

Marian doesn't give it back this time, or comment on the blood that's still under one of the opals. Instead she surprises Milah again, saying, “Wanna see the tree house?”

“I'd love to.” 

Milah follows her up the ladder that appears for Marian, halfway up realizing the branches and trunks are completely reflective, looking identical to the leaves. The house's floor is made of the same reflective wood, rendering it invisible until you're level with it, the rest of its materials a more common off-world mahogany. It's just as enchanting as the rest of the forest, only Marian more-so. 

She always looks extraordinarily beautiful, but up in the trees, Marian looks like a goddess, like the spirit of the forest. 

“Welcome to my home,” Marian says, and Milah doesn't have adequate words, kisses her instead. 

.

They leave the following afternoon, the crew's body count the same after Noodler's death and Marian joining. No one's been permanently damaged by the trip, though Cecco's hair has been charmed lime green.

The crew doesn't take so well to the newcomer clearly being groomed for command. But after one of Cookson's fingers is removed for touching Marian twice, the crew at least gives her the same respect they give each other. Marian takes to piracy well, soft and unassuming and constantly underestimated. 

Jack is waiting for them on the edge of the lawless galaxy, in a ship that looks eerily identical to the Jolly Roger. An unpleasant idea comes to mind, and she has Cecco zoom in on their hull. It shows the one difference between the two ships, for Jack had indeed somehow scavenged all of their old parts together, is the hulls are inlaid with faerie dust. 

“What will that do?” Marian asks. 

No one has an answer, and Jack calls, her face filling the screen. 

“I think you lot are in the wrong galaxy,” she says with a wide grin. “As you can see the _Jolly Roger_ has been on quite the murderous rampage. You should probably get a new ship and go into hiding, I know how lawful you people like to appear.” 

It only strengthens Milah's resolve, “You have one chance to leave unscathed.” 

Jack laughs, “What will you do? Hold us hostage for years? Everyone is after you and we're your only alibi, you can't kill us.” 

“You're not taking the out then,” Milah verifies, tapping her arm rest twice. 

Off-screen Smee gives the order to prepare weapons, and Marian grabs her hand. 

Jack smiles, “You're bluffing babe, you never were good at it. And who is that delicious little-”

“End transmission,” Milah says, and squeezing Marian's hand, she gives the order to fire.


End file.
